Help Me
by halloween princess
Summary: Peter gets a disconcerting text from Sylar, forcing Peter to come to the rescue.


_Help Me_

From any other person, Peter wouldn't have been worried. 'Help me' could have meant anything from 'help me find my keys' to 'help me kill the president' depending on who it came from. But this wasn't coming from somebody like Claire or Nathan. No. This was coming from Sylar. And Peter knew that when Sylar started asking for help, he had every right in the world to be worried. Peter stared at his phone for a few moments, mentally trying to decipher what the Hell was happening, before he texted back a quick '_I'll Be Right There_'

The last time Peter had checked, Sylar had been staying in the same run-down apartment for the last few weeks, so he decided to start looking for him there. He hadn't seen Sylar in almost a week, and as Peter ran down the street, shoving people out of the way, the worst-case scenarios started filtering through his mind. _What if he's killed someone?_ was the first thought, because it wasn't out of the question. Not by far. Peter knew well what Sylar was capable of, and he'd be stupid to underestimate it. But Peter also knew he had to at least try and trust that Sylar had it all under control.

By the time Peter finally stopped running, coming to a halt at the side of Sylar's apartment building, he had to lean against the brick wall near a dumpster to catch his breath and shrug his coat off of his shoulders because he was so hot. Peter's eyes fell on the rusty fire escape that ran up the side of the building, which looked like it would collapse with the slightest shift in weight on it. Of course, that didn't stop Peter from jumping up on to the dumpster and then just barely making the jump from there to the first ladder on the fire escape. Three floors up, Peter knelt on the landing outside of Sylar's apartment window, waiting for the skin on his hands to heal after all of the rust on the ladders caused them to bleed. Out of all of the abilities Peter had absorbed, regeneration seemed to so far be the most useful.

The window in front of Peter was broken, the glass missing a piece in the centre and the latch holding it closed missing altogether, which made it easy for Peter to open the window just enough to slip inside of the apartment. At first glance, the apartment looked almost like it had been abandoned – no pictures on the walls, no decorations, and hardly any furniture. But Peter knew that this is how Sylar liked it: clean, simple, and organized. The apartment was near dead silent, except for the sound of a ticking clock that Peter couldn't seem to find. Peter walked forwards, looking in to the kitchen and the bathroom and finding nothing, before he came face to face with Sylar's closed bedroom door.

"Sylar?" he said quietly, pressing his forehead to the door. There wasn't a response, which made Peter's chest tighten. Peter slowly opened the door, more than half expecting to see the floor covered in red and a dead body lying in the centre of it. What Peter wasn't ready for, however, was to see Sylar sitting on the very edge of the bed, his knees pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around himself, his hands ever so slightly shaking. Peter didn't say anything, didn't even move – just stood there, wondering how he'd let Sylar get so _broken_.

"Enjoying the view?"

Sylar's sharp words seemed to snap Peter out of the trance he'd been in, and Peter swallowed hard. "You want to tell me what's wrong?" Peter asked softly, his tone not aggressive or demanding or anything other than caring. "Can't you just read my mind?" Sylar said briskly, the cold tone almost making Peter wince. Slowly, Peter began to take small steps forwards, closer to Sylar "You know I'd never read your mind without you wanting me to" Peter said, raising an eyebrow.

Only a few steps closed the gap between the two, and the instant he was able to, Peter knelt down in front of Sylar, placing his hands on either of Sylar's legs and rubbing small circles there with his thumbs. "Talk to me" Peter said "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong". Sylar almost managed to not scoff "Other than the fact you're talking to me like a child?" he said, to which Peter just sighed "If that's what it takes, Gabriel, I will" Peter said, automatically moving back from Sylar. The next thing Peter knew, his back was pressed against the wall, Sylar kneeling in front of him, and the shaking hands that had once been wrapped around Sylar's body now wrapped around Peter's throat instead. "I told you to _never_ call me that" Sylar growled low, moving so close to Peter that the once-nurse could feel Sylar's breath on his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" Peter offered calmly, his words a little choked off by the hands around his throat. Peter rested his hands over top of Sylar's own, soothingly rubbing the back of them until Sylar let go of his neck. Before Sylar had the chance to curl back in on himself, Peter moved forwards and cupped Sylar's face "Hey, c'mon, look at me" he said quietly, tilting Sylar's face up so that he had no choice but to look in to Peter's eyes. "Tell me what's wrong" he said again, more firmly this time. It took minutes of complete silence, of Peter searching Sylar's eyes for any signs of emotion for Sylar to finally speak "I can feel it" Sylar said quietly, almost inaudibly "There are others out there, Peter. In the city, I can feel them. They have abilities that they- that they don't deserve to have" he tried to explain. Sylar closed his eyes and shook his head, his hands clenching in to tight fists when they began to shake again "I should have their abilities. They don't deserve to have them. I do"

"We've talked about this before, Sylar. You know you can't keep killing people. You know you're better than that – _I _know you're better than that" Peter said, crawling a little closer to Sylar "You're special, Sylar. You're special. But those people out there are special, too. You need to let them be." Peter gently brushed his lips over Sylar's own as he finished speaking, but it was Sylar who kissed Peter first. It wasn't rough and hard like Peter imagined it would be – it was slow and soft and gentle and everything that Sylar just _wasn't_. "Thank you" Sylar whispered when he pulled away, raising a hand to brush Peter's hair out of his face. "For what?" Peter asked, his gaze dropping to stare at the ground. Sylar smirked ever so slightly and tilted Peter's head up so that their eyes met "For being my hero"


End file.
